


The Gift of Giving

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Cats, Central Intelligence Agency, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ty and Zane find themselves on the receiving end of some unusual and unwanted gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Giving

It started with a sock.

A single, light blue, well used, man's sock, lying smack in the middle of the kitchen floor.

It was Zane who found it early one Sunday morning, as he ambled quietly into the kitchen to make his husband breakfast in bed. It was Zane who frowned at the sock in confusion, trying to remember the concluding moments of the previous night. Clothes had indeed been shed, and in rather a chaotic manner, but it hadn't started in the kitchen, and certainly not with _socks_.

He prodded the object with his foot, then used his toes to grab it and flip it over. He quickly realized it was far too small to be one of his, and far too worn to be one of Ty's. He was quite sure Ty would sooner wax and shave his balls than allow any of his socks to fall into such a ruinous state. To say nothing of the fact that the sock was out in the world on its own, with no obvious sign of an equally worn and holey partner. For certain members of the Garrett & Grady household, not keeping your socks in pairs was almost a whipping offence. Not _quite_ as much of a mortal sin as folding a towel the wrong way round, but it was definitely near the top of the list.

So if the sock wasn't his, and it wasn't Ty's, who the hell did the thing belong to? And more to the point, what the hell was it doing on their kitchen floor?

Zane leaned down to pick the sock up, wondering if he should take it upstairs to show to Ty. Then he imagined all of the questions Ty would invariably ask, and threw the unusual 'gift' to the back of the cupboard under the sink. He was getting far too old for shit like this, and had much better things to do with his time. And it was only a goddamn sock, not a hand grenade or a loaded gun. If someone was trying to scare them, or send them an ominous message, they were going about their business _entirely_ the wrong way.

Four days later, the next mystery object appeared.

Zane discovered this one as well, lying on the mat in front of the back door. But this time, it wasn't a threadbare sock. This time, it was a tiny pair of women's panties, made from the world's pinkest and flimsiest lace. Zane picked them delicately off the floor, held them aloft, and twisted them around in the light, as if this would somehow persuade them to reveal their secrets. 

Ty, with his usual sense of impeccably awkward timing, chose that very morning to bless the kitchen with his presence. He looked at Zane, then at the panties, then back at Zane, his eyebrows climbing towards his fringe. 

"Something you want to tell me here, Lone Star?" he asked, a dark, accusatory look settling on his handsome face.

Zane flashed Ty a roguish grin. "Was gonna ask you the same thing, doll," he drawled.

"Don't look at me, man," Ty shot back. "I'm not the one who just got caught holding the damn things."

"But you were out late last night, and didn't come home until after I'd gone to bed," Zane pointed out, slowly twirling the tiny panties around on his index finger.

"I was rearranging the mystery section," Ty explained, trying not to follow the garment with his eyes. "Not boning a panty-wearing cheerleader over the back of a chair."

Zane's lips twitched in sudden amusement. "And how do I know they're not yours?" he asked.

Ty frowned. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"Well if you didn't take them off a _girl_ ," Zane paused for effect, "I'm thinking maybe you got yourself a new kink and forgot to tell me," he added in a teasing tone.

Ty snorted loudly, and threw up his hands in mock surrender. "You got me, man. There's actually nothing I love more than the feel of slutty lace chafing up against my taint."

Zane shrugged nonchalantly. "Wouldn't be the kinkiest thing that's ever happened in this house," he said, his eyes flicking to the dining room table.

Ty followed the direction of his glance, then flashed a roguish grin of his own. "True," he replied.

"So they're definitely not yours, then?" Zane asked.

"Lone Star, I swear, the minute I decide I like wearing delicate lace panties, you'll be the _first_ to know," Ty said.

Zane sighed dramatically, feigning disappointment. "And hot pink is such a good look for you."

Ty rolled his eyes. "Yeah. It really brings out the colour of my Glock."

Zane snickered, and threw the panties into the cupboard under the sink, to set up home with the equally mysterious sock.

Six days passed before they received their next present.

This time, it was Ty who found it, lying at the bottom of the stairs. It was a left-handed women's glove, elegantly fashioned from soft, expensive black suede and finished with a faux fur cuff. He scooped it off the hardwood floor, and took it up to the bathroom to show to Zane. 

"This is starting to freak me out a bit," he said, scowling at his husband's reflection in the mirror.

"It is a bit weird," Zane agreed, dipping his razor into the sink, "but I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation."

Ty huffed quietly, and retreated to the main floor, muttering under his breath about being married to Mister Spock. The glove joined the socks and the panties in their exile under the sink. 

Four days later, another sock. And it wasn't even a match for the first one, much to Ty's disgust.

"It's bad enough that the universe is fucking with us," he grumbled at Zane, opening the cupboard again. "But could it at least fuck with us, and keep its socks together at the same time?"

Zane made a sympathetic noise, and put a reminder in his phone to bring a cardboard box home from the store. 

Twelve days later, the universe endowed them with a lovely pair of men's briefs.

Zane was in the shower at the time, and could therefore be excused for not immediately acknowledging his husband's shout of disgust. But the disgust was communicated to him very clearly, when he pulled the shower curtain back to find Ty standing on the bathroom mat, scowling thunderously, with a pair of giant, leopard print, thong-style briefs pinched carefully between his thumb and his index finger, as if he was trying to hold up a turd by the clean end.

"The lace panties were bad enough, Zane, but _these_ ," he hissed, shaking the briefs violently in his husband's face. "These are _too_ much."

Slowly and surely, the contents of the box increased. Another pair of women's pants, but this time, for a larger and much sturdier lady. A beanie hat. A kitchen towel. A tiny baby's shoe. Which absolutely did _not_ lead Ty to think they were acting out the plot of a horror movie. No sir, not at all.

The worst of it was, they had absolutely no idea who or what was leaving the gifts, and how they were getting in. The house was protected by one of the best alarm systems money could buy, courtesy of Mister Johns. The cats were free to come and go via the flap in the back door, but only when the system was off. Whenever he and Ty left the house or went to bed, they switched the system on, which automatically locked the flap, keeping the kitties safely indoors.

It was all _very_ strange.

"Maybe you have a poltergeist," Nick suggested, as Ty used the reverse camera on the iPad to show him the contents of the box.

"I thought about that," Ty replied, ignoring Zane's eye-rolling exasperation. "But they're supposed to just move shit around. Not create it out of thin air."

Digger seconded Nick's opinion on the paranormal explanation, with 'some real bad voodoo shit' tacked on at the end for good measure. Kelly wondered what the problem was, took another sip of his beer, and told them both to 'netflix and chill'. Owen's response was by far the most rational, but also the most alarming.

"This isn't some weird CIA training thing, is it?" he asked cautiously.

Ty frowned. "What do you mean, some weird CIA training thing?"

"Was just wondering if they're maybe putting you through some kind of field test."

"Ozone, what the hell is the CIA field testing by giving us _socks_?" 

"It's not about the socks," Owen replied, shaking his head. "It's about the psychology behind the socks. They do something trivial but weird, then watch to see how you respond."

"Well why the fuck would they do that?" Ty exclaimed. "We only run a safe house, for Christ's sake. I'm not pushing to be named the next Chief of Moscow Station."

Owen shrugged. "I dunno, man. You work for them, not me. Maybe they have a budget they need to use. Maybe they're really bored. Maybe someone doesn't like you."

"You'd think the CIA would have better things to do with its time and money than break into my house and leave panties on my kitchen floor," Ty muttered darkly.

"That's what they used to say about the Stasi, bro," Owen pointed out. "And look how well _that_ turned out."

Ty grumbled a quiet thanks, ended the FaceTime call, and spent the next four hours sweeping the house from top to bottom, looking for signs of bugs. The only items of interest he found were a dead mouse, a Canadian ten dollar bill, and a long-abandoned packet of lube.

It was the rubber glove that finally pushed Ty over the edge.

Ty could apparently cope with single, holey, unmatched socks. Ty could apparently cope with women's undergarments in a variety of shapes and sizes. Ty could apparently cope with the kind of men's briefs normally seen only on an Italian beach. But for some reason Zane was scared to ask, the sight of a bright yellow, man-sized rubber glove lying in the middle of the dining room table disturbed him almost to the point of tears. 

He took one look at it, threw on his coat, and stormed out the front door, muttering under his breath that the universe had fucked with him for the last time. He returned an hour or so later, carrying a box full of very expensive toys.

"What the hell is all this?" Zane asked, carefully prodding the gadget at the top of the pile.

"Cameras," Ty replied, gently swatting his hand away. "Expensive cameras. With some very useful features."

Zane looked up, eyebrows raised. "What kind of useful features?"

"Night vision, infrared and motion detection," Ty explained. "Everything I need to catch our mysterious guest."

Zane's stomach lurched into his throat. "Jesus, Ty, you didn't _buy_ all of this stuff, did you?" he asked, thinking about the damage the credit card would have taken.

Ty shook his head. "Didn't spend a penny. Called in a favour with Clancy. Borrowed it all from the FBI."

Zane relaxed. "Did you tell her what the problem was?" he enquired.

"Course I did," Ty shot back.

The corners of Zane's mouth tucked up slightly. "Are you absolutely sure about that?" he asked, trying to imagine Clancy's reaction to the story of the pink lace.

Ty paused for a moment, then huffed loudly, caught in the act. "Okay, maybe not the _full_ story," he confessed. "But I told her someone was trying to break into our house."

Which wasn't exactly the whole truth, but not exactly a pants-on-fire level lie either...

Later that night, the two of them retreated to bed as if they were preparing for war. Doors locked. Windows locked. Alarm on the highest setting. Cameras on. Night vision on. Infrared on. Motion sensors on and calibrated to ignore anything smaller than a dog.

Zane slipped beneath the covers, praying with every bone in his body that Owen was on the wrong track, and this wasn't some stupid CIA game. Or Langley would soon be adding another star to its Memorial Wall. _In loving memory of Agent John Q. Fuckup, who died in the service of his country, being fed feet first to a pair of very hungry circus tigers. May the pooped out remains of his cretinous, dumbass, useless corpse forever fertilize the flowers in peace_.

There was nothing to see the next morning. No gift left on the kitchen floor. No activity of any kind recorded on the expensive equipment. 

The second and third nights also came up empty-handed, much to Ty's irritation.

"Would be just like the thing if I bring this stuff home to catch someone in the act," he complained as they walked to the store, "and the universe decides it's time to go mess with someone else instead."

They finally saw some action on the fourth night, but not the kind of action either of them really wanted. Zane made the horrendous mistake of going to the bathroom for a glass of water, forgetting the alarm system was now on the highest setting. Four seconds later, every sensor in the house was flashing, and Zane was lying flat on the floor, struggling to catch his breath, with Ty kneeling on his chest, and a gun pointed at his face.

Unsurprisingly, nobody got breakfast in bed the morning after _that_ debacle. Ty eventually padded down the stairs, looking like an abandoned puppy, and quietly apologized to his slightly bruised and battered husband, admitting that in the heat of the moment, he'd maybe gotten a _teensy_ wee bit carried away.

By the end of the second week, they still had nothing to show for their efforts, and Zane was giving serious thought to spending his nights at the store. Clancy conveniently saved the day, by demanding the return of her expensive equipment. Ty boxed the cameras up and took them back to the FBI. Zane switched the house alarm back to a more sensible setting, pointing out that if he couldn't go to the bathroom during the night, he would have no choice but to pee out of the bedroom window instead.

Peace and order was thus restored throughout the land.

The deliveries soon resumed. A child's t-shirt. A black camisole. A Red Sox cap, which made Ty begin to wonder if this was one of Nick's elaborate jokes. It eventually got to the point where he refused to enter the house or go downstairs until Zane had scanned the main floor and given him the all clear.

And so it was Zane who eventually discovered the truth.

There was no ghost. No poltergeist. No underwear-obsessed intruder. No bored CIA agents breaking into their house for psychological shits and giggles. The source of the unusual presents was something much smaller, cuter and in Zane's opinion, even more annoying than all of the other explanations combined. 

A few minutes after he'd rolled out of bed, he reappeared at the bedroom door, a shit-eating grin plastered across his rugged face.

"Well?" Ty asked anxiously, reaching for his favourite pillow.

"We got another one," Zane explained. "But I haven't removed it yet, because I think you really need to see it."

Ty let out a quiet groan, and pulled his pillow into his chest. "Oh, God. It's another rubber glove, isn't it?" he whispered.

Zane made a mental note to ask Nick and Deacon about the gloves. Then immediately changed his mind. On second thoughts, it was probably better if he didn't know.

"It's not a rubber glove," he promised, beckoning to his wary spouse. "It's nothing to worry about, doll. Trust me."

Ty narrowed his eyes at Zane, obviously not convinced. "Lone Star, you better not be taking me to look at a used jockstrap," he warned.

Zane let out a quiet sigh. "Meow Mix, will you quit whining, get your sorry ass out of that bed, and just come down to the kitchen with me? Please?" he implored.

Ty huffed suspiciously, but eventually abandoned his safety pillow, and followed his husband down the stairs. His eyes widened as he padded carefully into the kitchen, and finally saw who was responsible for their plight. 

Cricket sat on the kitchen floor, gently kneading her paws on the tiles, with a look on her face as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. To Ty's horror and surprise, that same butter-resistant mouth was firmly clamped around the strap of a capacious, lacy, black bra. When she saw him, she dropped the strap and bleeked loudly, demanding an acknowledgement of her wonderful gift. 

Ty simply stared, utterly astonished by her shameless behaviour. "You naughty little tart," he eventually exclaimed, laughing lightly. She bleeked again, jumped up on the kitchen counter, and butted her head against his arm, demanding a cuddle reward from her Favourite Human.

Ty shook his head and backed away. "Nuh uh, missy," he said, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "No cuddles for you, until you learn some proper manners." Then he turned to his husband, a look of confusion on his face. "But how the hell has she been getting out of the house?" he asked.

Zane snorted, walked across to the back door, and nudged the cat flap with his foot. Instead of holding firm in the frame, it swung noisily back and forth, even though they hadn't as yet disabled the alarm for the day.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess that something in the setup for the standard setting has gone on the fritz," Zane said, shrugging slightly.

Ty nodded as comprehension dawned. "So she's been sneaking out whenever she wants." He swallowed thickly, thinking about the traffic on the main road.

"And stealing stuff from houses all across Fell's Point, by the looks of it," Zane added with a wicked grin.

Ty turned his attention back to Cricket, still sitting on the kitchen counter. "Young lady, your thieving, disobedient ass is well and truly grounded," he told her in a stern voice, like a father admonishing a naughty child. Then he scooped her into his arms, nuzzled her briefly on the head, and set her carefully down on the floor.

Zane watched in amusement as she gave her prize a dainty sniff, then pitter-pattered over to her bowl of food. Stealing other people's belongings was obviously very hungry work.

Ty grabbed the bra up from the floor, and carried it over to the cardboard box.

"I know you're not the biggest cat fan in the world," he said as he rifled carefully through the collection, "but you have to admit, she's hauled in a pretty impressive stash."

"I'd be even more impressed if she'd managed to bring home a bag of uncut diamonds," Zane said drily.

Ty snickered. He couldn't argue with his partner there. "What do you think I should do with all this stuff?" he asked. "Now we know we can blame it all on a cat."

"I thought about that, and I think I have an idea," Zane said. "So why don't you go open up the store, and leave it to me?"

Ty shrugged, and handed over the box of booty, happy to accede to his husband's request. If Zane wanted to deal with the situation, who was he to get in the way?

When he left the store at the end of the day, it wasn't long before he discovered that Zane's idea of dealing with a situation wasn't quite the same as his. He'd barely travelled half a block before he was confronted by a photo of Cricket, staring out from a poster taped to a nearby wall. The photo showed her sitting pretty, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, her paws held neatly together, with a handwritten note hanging loosely around her neck.

_I steal stuff from other people's gardens and houses. Did I steal something of yours? Come find out! Make my silly human apologize for what I did._

The lower half of the poster provided a slightly longer explanation of Cricket's nocturnal adventures, as well as information on where and when the stolen items could be retrieved. Over the space of the next few days, a steady stream of people turned up at their front door, seeking the return of their missing belongings. A few of them were not impressed, but most of them saw the humour in the situation. The long-limbed, attractive owner of the capacious bra tried to give Ty her number, 'just in case it ever happened again', an offer which he firmly but politely declined. Sadly, nobody came to reclaim the giant, leopard print, thong-style briefs. Or any of the holey socks.

Owen connected to their alarm system, found the configuration error that was causing the cat flap lock to fail, and quickly uploaded a fix. There were no more unsanctioned feline excursions, and more to the point, no more unwanted gifts. Cricket was not at _all_ amused, and quickly took her revenge on Ty by horking a hairball the size of a planet all over his favourite boots.

"Pretty sure this is the cat version of giving you the middle finger," Ty griped, as he carefully carried his boots outside to clean them with the garden hose.

Zane let out a sarcastic snort. "Cats are evil assholes, doll. I think they give you the middle finger every time the breathe."

Ty made a scandalized noise. "And you wonder why you're only ever their fourth favourite person," was his caustic reply.

Zane shrugged. He had no problem with that. "What about you?" he called out through the kitchen window.

"What about me?" Ty replied, shaking the excess moisture from his boots.

"Where do I rank in _your_ list of favourite people?" Zane enquired with a teasing smile. "Am I still your number one?"

Ty frowned in concentration, pretending to think about his response. "I suppose so, yeah," he eventually said.

"What do you mean, you _suppose so_?" Zane demanded in an offended tone.

"Just not when you say mean things about my kitties," Ty explained, his lips twitching in amusement. "Or when you clip your toenails in bed," he added.

"What if I bring you home a nice pair of lace panties?" Zane proposed. "Will that keep me at number one?"

Ty sighed in exasperation. "Lone Star, you buy me lace panties of _any_ colour, the only list you'll be number one on is the list of people _not_ getting laid."

Zane nodded, heeding his husband's warning. Then he snickered quietly, remembering the object that had started their ridiculous quest.

"No lace panties, I promise. But what if I bring you a single sock?"


End file.
